


Chasing Pete

by Elwyne



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: April Showers 2015, Gen, Pete's World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elwyne/pseuds/Elwyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torchwood London is being systematically dismantled from the inside. When Pete Tyler goes missing, Rose, Jack, and the Doctor have to overcome their greatest weaknesses to find him - and to save their own lives. Fortunately, they have the help of a new old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"That was horrible," Rose sighed.

The Doctor locked the door behind them as they left the office. "Still, they got the message. I don't think they'll be visiting this system again."

"If not them, somebody else. And there's hardly any of us left to fight them." She glanced at her silent phone. "Where on earth is Dad? He should have been there."

The Doctor took her arm. "I'm sure he's around somewhere. Come on, I think I hear the pub calling."

"Sounds good," said a voice from the shadows behind them.

Rose spun around, bristling like a startled cat. The Doctor glanced casually over his shoulder. "I was wondering when you'd show up again," he said.

A figure stepped toward them out of the dark, a familiar grin on his face, his long black coat sweeping around his ankles. Rose squealed with delight.

"Jack! Where have you been?" She hugged him warmly, then punched him in the chest. "You scared me, you rat!"

"Good to see you too," he chuckled. One arm around her shoulders he reached out with the other to shake the Doctor's hand. "Howdy, Doc."

"Hello, Rat," said the Doctor. "Pub?"

Jack's eyes twinkled merrily. "Pub."

 

“Tell us, Jack, where have you been all this time? What sort of trouble have you been getting into?”

Jack grinned at him over his glass. “Oh, here and there. This and that. You know.”

“Ha!” The Doctor smirked. “I bet. Let me see...” He turned to Rose, who smiled mischievously back at him. “India?”

Jack’s grin broadened. “Bingo. What tipped you off? The flying saucer?”

“Just the sort of thing that might get your attention.”

“It was pretty impressive. Where the heck was Torchwood?”

“Oh, well, we’ve been scaled back. Domestic only, you understand.”

“Actually, I don’t,” said Jack, raising an eyebrow.

“Right. You don’t.” The Doctor fidgeted, avoiding Jack's eyes. “It's a leaner organization these days. Just the essentials, no fat, no spare parts. Um. We’ve lost a lot of agents lately.”

“Lost how? Killed?”

“Killed? No. One death, but you know about that already."

Jack nodded, and they all stared solemnly into their drinks. After a long and valiant battle, Sarah Jane Smith had succumbed to her disease; her friends felt her absence keenly.

Jack swallowed the remains of his drink in one gulp. The Doctor cleared his throat and continued, counting on his fingers. "One out on medical leave. Two, the Williamses, are home with their new baby. One transferred to a university job, two took early retirement, and one vanished without a trace.”

“Vanished? Who vanished?”

The Doctor smirked again. “You did.”

“Ah. Right.” Jack grinned.

“Are you back now, or still vanished?”

“That’s a good question.” Jack sat back in his chair, his smile enigmatic.

“Anyway, that’s most of the senior staff," the Doctor went on. "No one to spare for an elaborate hoax.”

As one Rose and Jack gaped at him. “Hoax?" Rose demanded. "What makes you think it’s a hoax?”

“It’s obvious," the Doctor answered with a grin. "I can’t believe you didn’t spot it right away!”

“Stop it!" said Rose with a swipe at his shoulder. "Just tell us.”

Smugly the Doctor picked up his phone, scrolling through a collection of news photos. “That’s it, isn’t it?” he asked, showing Jack the phone.

“Yeah. This is from the AP in Calcutta." 

“How about this?” The Doctor selected another picture and held it up for both of them to see. They stared open-mouthed.

“It’s the same picture!” said Jack.

“Nearly. Do you recognize it now?”

“I remember,” said Rose, abashed. “That’s the winner of the national science fair. A bunch of boys from Eton. One of them’s Indian.”

Jack grinned appreciatively. “So it’s all a big prank then.”

“Yep. No Torchwood.” He put the phone away. “How did it look, up close?”

“Well, I didn’t get that close; security was tight. Just close enough to see that it was pretty heavily damaged. No good as transportation.”

Rose glanced at him uneasily. “You still trying to get out of here, then?”

He shrugged. “Habit, I guess.” 

“We’d be sorry to lose you,” the Doctor said gravely.

“As you can see, I am not going anywhere.”

The three friends sat in silence, staring into their drinks, until an urgent beep from Rose's phone pulled them from their thoughts. Her brow furrowed as she checked it.

“What is it?” asked the Doctor.

“Dunno. Something odd. It’s from Dad’s number, but there’s no message.” She punched the ‘call’ button. “Voice mail’s picking up.”

“That is odd," he replied. "Try your mum?”

She shook her head. “Mum and Tony are on the continent for six weeks. She hates the spring weather in England. I’ll try Torchwood, see if he's there now.” She punched in another number, but the line rang and rang. Abruptly she disconnected and stood up, shoving the phone in her pocket. “Nothing. I’m going to the house.”

“I’ll come with you. Just in case.” 

"Me too," said Jack, throwing money on the table. “Nice try. You’re not leaving me behind.”

The Doctor grinned as they made for the door. "Well then, Jack, allons-y!"

 

“That’s funny, the door isn’t locked.” Rose peered around the dimly-lit foyer. “Hello? Dad? Anyone?” 

Her voice echoed in the silent house. Jack and the Doctor followed her into the room.

"Let's have a look around," said the Doctor. The three split up and moved through the house, calling for Pete and his assistant Ian, receiving no response. Then Jack shouted from the ground floor.

“Found someone!”

Rose hurtled down the stairs and the Doctor raced in from the east wing. They found Jack in the kitchen, trying to revive a slight young man lying sprawled on the floor amid shards of broken china and a wide dark stain. The smell of coffee filled the room.

“He’s alive but not responding," said Jack. "That coffee is ice cold; he’s been here a while.”

“That’s Ian." Rose knelt down and took the young man's hand in hers. "He shouldn't be here alone. Dad always takes him along when he's working, and sends him home when he's not.”

The Doctor crouched down to examine the prone figure, checking his pulse and peering into his glazed eyes. He dipped a finger into the spilled coffee, sniffing and tasting it. “Drugged,” he said, turning to Rose. “Would anyone else be here?”

She shook her head. “Cook and housekeeper would have gone home hours ago. Sometimes there’s extra staff, but not when Mum’s away.”

“She does love to make extra work for people.”

“Shut up.” She flashed a grin then quickly became serious again. “Something’s happened to Dad then.”

“It does look that way.” The Doctor stood up and moved into the pantry, rummaging around on the shelves. “Ah hah!” He emerged with a small bottle. “Jack, help the lad sit up, would you?”

Jack gripped Ian by his shoulders and pulled him upright. The Doctor uncapped the bottle and waved it under his nose. Ian groaned, weakly moving his head away. The Doctor grinned.

“Horseradish. Good as smelling salts any day. Hello in there!”

Ian groaned again, his eyelids fluttering. Slowly he began to wake. “What... where am I?”

“You’re safe," said the Doctor. "What’s happened to your boss?”

Ian stared at the Doctor, then glanced blearily at Rose and Jack. “Rose... Mr. Tyler? Where is Mr. Tyler?”

“That’s what we came to find out." said Rose gently. "What’s the last thing you remember?”

Ian looked around in a daze. “Uh... I was... why am I in the kitchen?”

“Cup of coffee?”

Ian stared blinking at the shattered cup. “Never drink the stuff. Er. Right. I was bringing Mr. Tyler a cup. He says I make lousy coffee, but Cook had gone. I... I had a taste, but I can never tell. It’s all vile to me.”

The Doctor wandered into the kitchen and examined the coffee pot. “This pot is particularly vile.” He sniffed the contents of the pot, then emptied it down the sink and held it up to the light. “When was this pot last used?”

“Dunno. Um... last week? Cook uses the espresso machine, but I could never get the hang of it.”

“Hm.” The Doctor squinted up at the light refracting through the glass. “Yeah. Definitely drugged.” He looked at Ian. “And you never drink the stuff. Common knowledge?”

“I suppose so. The staff know, they’re always teasing me. Say I’ll never keep up with Mr. Tyler if I don’t drink coffee.”

The Doctor set the pot down. “And what was Mr. Tyler doing this evening, that he needed you to bring him coffee?”

Ian’s brow furrowed with the effort of recollection. “Um... budgeting I think. The finance people are coming in the morning. Audit Torchwood books, I think.”

Jack grinned. “Torchwood has books? Good for them.”

“Government funding," said Ian with a shrug. "Got to dot every i, you know.”

“Interesting.” The Doctor leaned on the counter, tapping his fingers. “Er. Anyone see where Rose went?”

Startled, Jack glanced around; Ian merely blinked slowly. The Doctor grinned. “Ian, where does Mr. Tyler do his budget work?”

“Study. Next to the library.”

Without a word the Doctor trotted out of the room, Jack on his heels. Ian scrambled clumsily to his feet and followed them.

 

The men found Rose behind her father’s desk, sorting through piles of paper. She looked up at their entrance.

“Is Ian with you? Maybe he can make sense of this.”

"Right here, miss." Ian squeezed into the room between the two taller men. Rose shoved a stack of papers at him and he flipped quickly through it.

“Hm. None of these are the budget documents we were working on. This is all junk mail. A decoy. Very odd.” Ian moved behind the desk, pulling open drawers as Rose looked on anxiously. “All the files we were using are gone. They were on the desk. Now they’re not.” He pushed the drawers closed and glanced around the room. “And I don’t see his briefcase. He’d have put them in there, when we were done, ready for the finance people tomorrow. Oh!”

“What is it?” asked Rose.

“I forgot. We had a plan. A procedure for if something went wrong. Er.”

“Like what?”

“Er. Like, if there was a mole. Or if we were compromised. Or something. Look, he never said. He just made the plan.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “And what is this plan?”

Ian looked suddenly nervous. “Er. I shouldn’t say. Classified, all that.”

Rose moved toward him menacingly. “Ian, this is my father we’re talking about.”

“Er. Yes. All the more reason, er, not to break protocol. Er.” He glanced at Jack, looming threateningly behind him. “Look. I’m not going to say. Important thing is, he’s safe. Probably.”

Rose glared at him, and Jack scowled. Ian clung to the desk as if it could protect him, his narrow jaw firmly set.

“So what’s the next step then?" the Doctor asked. "What’s your part of the plan?”

Ian swallowed uncomfortably. "Carry on as if nothing happened."

"What?" Rose's eyes blazed. "Carry on? Aren't you supposed to find him, help him? You can't just leave him!"

"I can, Miss Tyler, and I will. Those are my orders."

"What if I order you to help us?"

He gave her a withering glare. "I don't work for you, do I? I work for Mr. Tyler, and I don't answer to anyone else."

Furious, Rose turned and stalked out of the room.

 

The Doctor found her in the kitchen, staring stone-faced at the spilled coffee on the floor. He stood in the doorway watching her.

"Can't just leave him, Doctor."

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know what to do!" She swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "Bloody Ian."

The Doctor chuckled gently. "Just doing his job. Your dad would commend him."

"Dad isn't here." Her voice breaking, she stared silently at the floor.

"Rose! Doc!" Jack called from the foyer. "Let's go, there's been a sighting!"


	2. Chapter 2

"One hundred yards ahead and make a right!" Jack shouted over the noise, tracking their progress on his tablet computer. The engine roared and tires squealed as Rose jerked the wheel around and Pete's old Jeep bumped violently off the road. They bounced and jolted over the rough track and up a steep hill, the old car creaking and straining. At the top she slammed on the brakes; Jack's tablet flew out of his hands and clattered to the floor. "Dammit, Rose!"

"Is this it?"

"This is it." He picked up the computer. "The signal's coming from directly above us."

Rose leaped out of the Jeep, her eyes on the sky overhead. The Doctor followed with a groan, climbing stiffly out of the back seat. Rose ignored him, intent on the sky.

"See anything?" Jack called, still glued to his screen.

"Nothing," Rose answered, exasperated. "Wait! Shooting stars!"

Jack leaped out of the vehicle and craned his neck upward. A shower of meteors raced across the sky, a thousand tiny flaming trails of light. The three stood watching breathlessly, minute after minute, until the last of them faded away in the west. Jack glanced down at his tablet. 

"Definitely not an ordinary meteor shower. Much higher metal content, low organics."

"Are they spaceships?" asked Rose.

"Could be. Or they could just be junk. What do you think, Doctor?" 

"Any evidence of landing?"

"Nothing."

"What are they doing?" asked Rose. "Orbiting?"

Jack glanced back at the computer. "Looks like they just dropped in for a quick visit, and they're on their way again. Lots of reported sightings, but they've trailed off. The UFOs were tracked on radar for a total of seventeen point three minutes. Then they vanished."

"Not space junk, then," said the Doctor. "Must be powered craft to dip in and out of the atmosphere like that."

Rose watched the sky thoughtfully. "If they sent any communications while they were up there, there should be a record at Torchwood."

"One way to find out!" The Doctor grinned. "Allons-y!"

 

"Man, this place is dead!" Jack looked around the empty office in wonder. "Where is everybody?"

The Doctor clapped him on the shoulder. "We're it, old friend."

"You're kidding." Jack gaped at him. "You're not kidding."

"We've all the support staff, but no agents. With Pete missing, every single ranking member of Torchwood is gone, save the three of us."

"Wow."

"Also, it's two in the morning."

"Right."

Ahead of them, Rose unlocked the control room and disappeared inside. The men followed as she sat down at the main console and started running search programs. Silently the three listened to the computer whir as it did her bidding.

"Got something," she said. Jack reached over to switch on the hard copy printer. Sheets of paper began accumulating in the receiver; the Doctor glanced through them.

"Well, well, well. That's something, all right. Coded communications." He sat down at an empty table at the back of the room, staring at the pages in his hand.

"That's it for him," said Jack with a grin. "He'll be lost for hours."

Rose nodded, staring forlornly at the screen full of gibberish. Jack sat down beside her. "You all right, kiddo?"

"Can't lose him again, Jack. Can't lose my dad again." She rubbed her eyes hard. "If something's happened to him, I'll... I'll..."

"You'll what?" Jack grinned.

"I'll let Ian have it, that's what I'll do." She scowled at the computer in front of her. Jack chuckled and leaned back in his chair.

 

Time ticked slowly by as the Doctor pored over the lengthy printout. Rose dozed off in the chair in front of the computer, and Jack paced the room silently. Finally the Doctor pushed away from the table with a sigh.

"Never thought I'd say this, but I am stumped!"

Rose jerked upright, blinking sleepily. "What? Nothing?"

"Nothing!" He shook his head. "Not a clue!"

"We can run it through the machine." She took the stack of paper from him and started feeding it into the scanner. The Doctor watched doubtfully.

"I'm the codebreaker around here," he said, his tone injured. "Don't know if that machine is up to snuff."

Rose ignored him, her eyes on the monitor. A message flashed on the screen, and she groaned. "This is going to take hours. You may as well keep at it." She handed the stack back to him. "What the hell do we do now?"

"I've got an alert set up on my computer," said Jack. "We'll be notified right away if anything turns up."

"We may as well go home," said the Doctor. "It's been a long day. I expect we could use some rest."

"As if I could rest," Rose muttered.

 

The sun had not yet begun to rise as they made their way home. They climbed the stairs to the apartment in silence, the Doctor fumbling with his key. Stepping inside, Rose flipped on the light switch, but the room remained stubbornly dark.

"What the -"

A leather-gloved hand clapped over her mouth, a powerful arm wrapped tightly around her chest. Beside her, Jack and the Doctor were similarly immobilized, though in Jack's case it took two large men to hold him still.

"Quiet, please," said a soft voice. Rose pulled violently against her captor. The iron grip released her and she flew across the room toward the voice. 

"Dad!" she cried. The dark figure standing in the shadows caught her in his arms. "Dad, you're all right!"

"I'm fine, sweetheart. Please try not to make any noise."

"What's going on?"

"You didn't get my text?"

"It was blank. I called, but..."

Pete frowned. "Interference. I've been trying to reach you all night."

"We went to the house."

"You what? That was incredibly dangerous!"

Rose glared at him. "Ian was hurt."

"Ian was drugged, he'd have been fine in a few hours." Pete looked uncomfortable. "He is fine, isn't he?"

"Yes, Dad, he's fine."

Pete smiled, hugging her with one arm as he looked up at Jack and the Doctor standing by the door. A host of burly soldiers surrounded them, weapons ready. "Sorry about the rude welcome," he said, gesturing to his men. "As you've probably guessed, we're in some danger."

"Quite," answered the Doctor as the soldiers holstered their weapons.

"My briefcase with the Torchwood files was stolen tonight when I went to see what was keeping Ian; the assault and theft combined persuaded me to vanish. I suggest you do the same."

Pushing away, Rose looked up at him in the dark. "Why run away? Can't we fight it?"

"Not like this, sweetheart, not face to face."

"Then how?"

"My security team is working on the problem. We'll come up with something. In the meantime, you're going to join your mother on the continent. You should be safe there."

"I'm bloody well not!"

"Please don't argue with me, sweetheart."

"I'm not arguing. And I'm not going."

"If something happened to you your mother would never forgive me."

"And if something happens to you? That's all fine, is it?"

Pete sighed. "You're on the next train out of London," he said crisply, turning to Jack and the Doctor. "We need to split up. Together we make too big a target. We've got to lie low and keep communication to an absolute minimum."

"Inside job?" asked the Doctor.

"So it seems," answered Pete. "Torchwood is being systematically dismantled. Anyone who could be easily persuaded has gone. We are all that remains. I think if they have to take us down the hard way, they will.

"My people will take Rose to the train. There are seats for you as well if you wish to go."

"Thanks, I'll stay," said the Doctor, and Jack nodded in agreement.

"Very well," said Pete. "Don't linger too long." He paused, glancing around the room. "Where is Rose?"

The Doctor grinned brightly. "Gone to pack a bag, I expect."

Pete jerked his head toward the doorway behind him, and two of his men disappeared down the hall. One returned almost immediately.

"Bedroom window's open, sir, leads to the fire stairs."

"Dammit!" Pete muttered. "All right, I tried. Keep her safe, will you?"

"I will do my best," answered the Doctor solemnly. Pete glared at him, moving toward the front door with his men. "See that you do," he growled.

Jack and the Doctor watched Pete hurry silently down the stairs. A long black car, unlit, pulled around the corner as he reached the street, slowing down just enough for him and his escort to climb inside.

"Very well Jack," said the Doctor. "After you."

"No, Doctor, after you. I insist."

"No, I insist. I want to pull some files from here before I go. You get a head start and I'll be in touch." He held open the door, watching Jack expectantly.

"Fine," Jack said. "I want to hear from you within twelve hours."

"Molto bene." The Doctor winked at Jack as he stepped outside, and closed the door behind him.

 

Jack hurried down the steps. The sky was just beginning to brighten overhead, and nothing stirred in the quiet street. He turned the corner, where a tall hedge hid the neighboring buildings from the windows opposite. Glancing up and down the empty street, he stopped beside the hedge.

"You can come out now."

The hedge rustled softly. "Have they gone?"

"Yep. Doc's given us a head start. Let's head over to -"

Jack's words were lost in a resounding blast of noise and light. A rush of hot wind knocked them both to the ground; they huddled together as the shock wave passed over them, bits of debris raining down, leaving them deafened and black with soot. As the dust settled Jack lifted his head to look around.

"What the hell was that?"

Rose didn't answer. She lay flat, staring up at the building opposite, her eyes wide and her face deathly pale. Jack followed her gaze.

"Oh gods..."

Black smoke poured into the sky from the apartment he'd just left. A piece of the roof noiselessly collapsed, bright flames licking upwards into the early morning air. Shouts and screams from neighboring buildings pierced the cottony silence as his ears recovered; in the distance a lonely siren began to wail. Beside him Rose lurched to her feet and trudged hypnotically toward the wreckage of her home.

"Rose, no!" Jack tore after her. Waves of heat emanated from the building, burning his eyes and lungs. Rose stumbled closer, her hands flung over her face. Jack threw both arms around her, pulling her back; she struggled feebly, a strangled cry gurgling up from her throat. 

"Doctor!"

"Rose, we have to get away from here. Come on."

With sudden strength she pushed him off and ran toward the building. He ran after her, caught her; she fought him, kicking and clawing, but he lifted her off the ground, crushing her to his chest. Ducking into the shadows he hurried away, cradling her in his arms as she sobbed weakly against him.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack peered through the cracks in the door of a disused storage unit behind a nearby school, one of the many hideouts he had established over his long and unconventional lifetime in the city. Rose slept heavily in a chair; after a protracted fight he'd gotten a sedative into her, but she'd left a few marks on him before passing out. He rubbed his bruised wrist wryly. Outside, heavy smoke hid the bright morning sun.

He turned to check on Rose. She would be out for some time. Silently he opened the door and stepped out into the gray light. Even at this distance the odor of propellant and wet ash hung in the air, growing stronger as he retraced his steps. Silently he slipped through the police cordon, between the ranks of emergency vehicles blocking the road, and approached the scene of destruction unobserved. 

Jack looked up at the remains of his friends' home, his eyes watering in the gritty air. The flames had subsided but the building still smouldered, its entire upper floor open to the sky, the remaining walls burned black inside and out. He pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth to keep out the soot and breathed deeply, steeling himself.

Nothing stirred inside the cordon. He crept closer to the damaged building, picking his way through scattered debris. The neighbors had been evacuated; the police and arson crews had done all they could until things cooled off. Jack glanced at the stairwell he'd climbed a thousand times. It hung uselessly in the air, its top third missing completely. He turned away, toward the side of the building, where the fire stairs remained intact.

Jack hurried silently up the stairs and peered through the shattered window. Nothing recognizable remained inside, only blackened debris, and the air was almost too hot to breathe. Knocking aside the glass from the bottom of the frame, Jack put one leg through the window and tested the floor below. It creaked ominously, floorboards splintering under his weight.

With a sigh he wiped his eyes and climbed back down. Nothing could have survived that. What the hell would he do with Rose?

 

When he returned to the storage shed she was sitting up in the chair, holding her head in her hands. She glanced up as he came in, then looked quickly away.

"Sorry about the headache," he said. "I had to do something."

Rose mumbled under her breath.

"Come again?"

"He's not dead."

Jack took a deep breath. "Rose, I - "

"He's not!" She glared at him, her eyes on fire. "He's just not. I know it. All right?"

Jack held up his hands. "All right. Fine. He's alive. We still have to get out of here."

She eyed him steadily. "You went back there already?"

"Yeah. Nothing."

Rose dropped her gaze to the floor as Jack tried to work out their next move. His mind kept veering away from the task at hand. He wasn't good at losing people, even after years of practice, but he had to hold it together for Rose. She needed him now.

Suddenly she looked up. "The communications, Jack. The code."

He stared at her briefly; then, as one, they dashed out of the tiny room and back toward Torchwood.

 

Rose and Jack stood in the shadows down the block from their workplace, watching the crowd for signs of trouble. 

"I don't see anyone hanging about looking suspicious," said Rose.

"We're dealing with professionals here. They wouldn't just hang about, and they certainly wouldn't look suspicious. All this normalcy is making me very nervous."

"You go around the back, then," she answered indifferently, and jogged away into the street.

"Rose!" Jack hissed. She was out of hearing, for all he knew walking straight into a trap. He clenched his fists in frustration. But Rose reached the front door without incident and disappeared inside. Jack raced toward the back of the building, just in case.

He found her in the computer control room, leafing through a stack of papers. "Anything?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, tucking the papers into her jacket. "Let's get out of here." She hurried out of the room; baffled, Jack followed in her wake.

Out in the street Jack rushed to catch up with her, falling into step beside her as she strode purposefully along. "You're being very calm about all this."

"Think I should lose my head?" She glanced up at him with a grin. "So you can be the knight in shining armor?"

He flushed, suddenly embarrassed. "I'm not much of a knight," he muttered.

"And I'm not much of a damsel in distress," she retorted, serious again. "We need more information. Do you have your tablet?"

He patted the breast pocket of his coat. "Don't leave home without it."

"Give it here, then." She stopped and held out her hand.

"Can we slow down a minute?" He pulled her into a nearby coffee shop and handed her the tablet. "Sit. I'll get coffee."

Rose obeyed, sitting quietly with the computer as he stood in line for drinks. But as soon as he sat down, she shoved the computer at him and dashed away without a word.

Bewildered, Jack glanced at the page she'd been reading. It was a detailed article about that morning's explosion, with eyewitness accounts, statements from the arson squad, and a wide range of speculation. There was a large photo of the lineup of emergency vehicles he'd crossed that morning; underneath it, the phrase which had caught Rose's eye.

"One victim was transported to Royal Hope Hospital in critical condition."

 

By the time Jack found them, Rose was sitting at the Doctor's bedside, her eyes shining. The Doctor looked up as Jack walked in. His face was bruised, his head and hands bandaged, but he smiled brightly. "Hello, Jack!"

Jack grinned. "Good to see you. Had me going for a minute there."

"Aw." The Doctor shrugged dismissively. "Don't know what I would've done if you hadn't left the apartment. Don't think we'd have both fit in the fridge."

"Is that where you hid out?" he asked, dropping into a chair.

"Yes, and I don't recommend it. There's only enough air for a few minutes, so I had to open the door before things had really cooled off." He looked at his bandaged hands. "Got a bit rattled around in there too. All in all, a rough trip, and I'm not sure the small deception will turn out to be worth it."

Jack looked at him doubtfully. "I'm not sure it will even work. You made the news, and we didn't have any trouble finding you."

The Doctor smirked. "Rose knew how to find me, and you were looking for her, not me. And soon it will be my death making the news, thanks to a certain new friend of mine." His eyes moved to the doorway, and his grin turned smug. Jack looked over his shoulder. An attractive black woman stepped into the room, wearing a doctor's white coat and stethoscope around her neck. She had a tolerant look about her, as if she were used to humoring patients' odd requests. Jack raised an eyebrow appreciatively, admiring her slim graceful figure as she paused to wash her hands at the sink by the door.

"How are you feeling, Dr. Kowalski?" She crossed to the bedside and laid a gentle finger on her patient's wrist, checking her watch. "Are you leaving your bandages alone?"

"He's been very good, Dr. Jones," said Rose, beaming. "Thank you for looking after him."

"Can I go now?" asked the Doctor plaintively.

Dr. Jones smiled. "If you behave you can go home in a few days. For now, just rest. Not too much excitement." She put on her stethoscope and listened to his chest.

"Dr. Jones," interrupted Jack, "are you really going to tell reporters you lost a patient?"

She took off her stethoscope and cast him a mischievous glance. "I don't mind if they think Dr. Jan Kowalski passed away in our care, since that isn't my patient's real name."

Jack grinned broadly. "And how do you know that?"

"Never believe in a man called John Smith," she said with a wink, turning back to her patient. "I'll check on you again first thing in the morning. Let the nurse know if you need anything."

"Yes, Doctor," said the Doctor with a grin.

Jack's eyes followed her as she swept out of the room. "Wow," he said. "She's something else, isn't she."

"Indeed," answered the Doctor enigmatically.

Jack shook his head, bringing his attention back to his friends. "So, Doc, what the heck are we gonna do with you? Looks like it could be a while before you're back in fighting form."

"Oh, it's not that bad. Bumps and bruises, mainly."

"Liar," said Rose. "Third-degree burns, broken ribs, and concussion. And bumps and bruises as well. You'll not be running around for a while yet."

The Doctor grumbled, but didn't argue.

"Okay," said Jack. "What are we going to do?"

"Good question," answered the Doctor, as Rose passed him the stack of papers tucked into her jacket. "This might have something to tell us."

Rose and Jack watched as he leafed clumsily through the pages, reading through the whole document in a matter of seconds. "Interesting, very interesting. Mind you, it's not a very good translation. And I seem to have misplaced the original printout. I expect it's a pile of ash now. Anyway." He rattled the pages noisily. "The gist seems to be that someone inside our government is doing an arms deal with an alien race. Part of the deal is the dismantlement of Torchwood."

"An arms deal? What kind of weapons?"

The Doctor smirked. "Micro-explosives."

Jack sat back in his chair with a grin. "That explains that, then."

"Quite." The Doctor set the pages aside. "I have to agree with Pete; I think we should split up. Especially if I'm going to be stuck here. We'll need to move quickly, gather as much information as we can. They've tried to kill us once, it's only a matter of time before they try again."

"I can infiltrate the Ministry of Defense," said Jack, grinning broadly. "Always look my best in uniform."

His friends smiled. "Right," said the Doctor. "You do that. Rose?"

Rose looked thoughtful. "Dad's computer at the house has special access. High-level classified stuff. I should be able to get a look at it."

"Fantastic." He grinned.

"What about you, Doctor? What will we do with you?"

"That is a very good question."

 

Martha Jones saw the man again as she was leaving work for the night. He hurried out of the building ahead of her, his long black coat trailing behind him like a super-hero's cape. She smiled to herself as she followed, admiring his dashing figure, his purposeful stride. There goes a handsome one, she thought, nice taste in clothes, looks like he works out. Warmly she remembered the dimpled grin he'd given her, the playfulness in those blue eyes. Who could resist? Not relationship material, she decided, even if she did have time for such things, but he might be fun for a little while. His quick step took him further and further ahead of her, and he soon vanished around a distant corner. With a sigh she turned her thoughts to other matters.

As she approached the corner he stepped out of the shadows. "Something I can do for you, Dr. Jones?"

Startled she leaped back, her pepper spray in hand. Just in time she stopped herself from dousing him. "Gods you frightened me! What on earth was that for?"

"Why are you following me?"

"I'm not following you, I live this way!"

"Oh." He looked disappointed. "Sorry I scared you."

"Wait," she said, as he began to turn away. "Who are you? You and your Dr. Smith?"

He glanced over his shoulder, grinning. "Stuff of legends," he said with a wink.

"I want to help," she said, surprising herself.

He looked at her, his blue eyes suddenly cold and penetrating. She stared back at him, matching his steady gaze as endless seconds ticked away. Then he grinned again, friendly and disarming.

"You have," he said, and vanished into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

In the morning Martha looked in on her strange patient. His girlfriend was still with him, asleep in the chair beside him. He sat up in bed picking at his bandages.

"If you don't stop that I'll have to set a nurse on you," she said.

He started guiltily, then gave her a bright smile. "Good morning, Dr. Jones!"

The woman in the chair sat up and stretched. "How is he, Doctor?"

"Let's have a look, shall we?" Her patient lay back on the pillow, his eyes following her as she examined him.

"Do you believe in parallel worlds, Dr. Jones?" he asked.

"Mm," she answered noncommittally, checking his pulse.

"I knew a Martha once. She was a medical student."

"Yes?" said Dr. Jones, listening to his chest.

"Incredibly brave, she was. Adventurous. Absolutely dedicated to her family, she'd die for them. Nearly did, actually."

"I see," said Dr. Jones as she began unwrapping the bandage on his hand.

"She fancied me."

"Did she now?" She prodded the burns on his hand, and he winced. "Sorry, did that hurt? It's looking very well. No sign of infection."

"Delightful."

She moved around to examine his other hand. "These are much better today, Dr. Kowalski."

"Can I go, then?"

Martha shook her head, peering into his eyes with a small flashlight. "Your burns are healing nicely, and the swelling is down. But your breathing is restricted, which tells me you've been lying about your ribs not hurting you, and you're still showing symptoms of concussion. If you check out now it'll be against orders." 

Pocketing her flashlight she strode across to the door and softly pushed it shut. When she turned back the two of them were staring at her, the woman wide-eyed and the man serious. She lowered her voice.

"Did you really survive an explosion by hiding in a refrigerator?"

He grinned smugly. "Oh, yes."

"How did you know?"

"About the explosion?" He tapped his nose. "Ordinary paranoia. And a little whiff of something."

"Gas leak?"

"Is that what the news channels are saying?"

"That's what they're saying, but they don't know. The police haven't said anything."

"I'm sure it was a gas leak."

She looked at him dubiously. "Is that why you want them to think you're dead? Gas leak?"

He grinned at her again. "Can't get anything by you, can I, Dr. Jones?"

"Someone's tried to kill you. Maybe they think they've succeeded, maybe they don't. For some reason you don't want to go to the police. You might be in danger here, but you'll definitely be in danger if you leave. I want to help. Please tell me how I can help you."

The couple exchanged a long glance, as if communicating telepathically. When they looked back at her, they both wore broad smiles.

"Martha Jones," he said. "Have I got a story for you."

 

"I don't believe a word of it, you know."

Rose opened her mouth to argue, but changed her mind. "Doesn't matter."

"I meant what I said. If there's something you can't tell me, that's fine. I still want to help."

"Thank you, Martha," Rose said, hiding her resignation. Martha wasn't going to believe them. But she was going to keep the Doctor safe in her home after she released him from the hospital, and for that Rose was grateful. Martha lived in a nice place, a building with good security and a doorman. The Doctor would be safe there. The apartment itself was large and comfortably furnished, an upstairs unit with lots of daylight and plenty of modern conveniences. An ample guest room with its own bath; reliable high-speed internet; and Martha's computer was almost as up to date as the one they had lost in the explosion. He would be happy enough to hide out here, she hoped.

Martha rummaged in a drawer until she'd found her spare key, which she gave to Rose. "I'm probably going to keep him another few days," she said as they headed back out into the street. "But after that, you can bring him here, and come and go as you like."

"Thank you, Martha."

"I have to get back now, but you can stay if you'd like."

"No, I have to go. Have to get him some clothes and things. Me too, now I think of it."

Martha smiled at her. "I'm so sorry, I forgot. It's quite difficult to imagine losing everything."

"I don't think I've quite wrapped my head around it." She took Martha's arm. "Really, Martha, thank you again. For everything."

The women exchanged a warm hug, and hurried away in opposite directions.

 

Smartly uniformed, Jack stood at attention before the secretary to the Minister of Defense as the young soldier examined his papers. Being psychic, the papers told the secretary exactly what Jack needed him to know: the man in front of him was Lieutenant John Hart of the US Special Service, on loan as a deterrent weapons consultant. He had a long-standing appointment with the minister that the young secretary didn't quite remember scheduling, but as everything was in order he handed the papers back.

"If you'll have a seat, sir, the minister will see you presently."

"Thank you, soldier," answered Jack with a charming grin. The young man blushed as he turned away, and Jack smiled smugly to himself; this job was going to be fun.

 

It didn't take Jack long to ingratiate himself. The minister was highly impressed with his extensive knowledge of weapons systems. Lieutenant Hart had the highest-level security clearance, and was quickly included in some sensitive negotiations. Within hours of his arrival, Jack was shaking hands with a fellow consultant, a civilian named Roberts who was facilitating the purchase of a new type of weapon.

"Tell me more about your client," said Jack as the two sipped whiskey in the minister's office. 

Roberts smiled coldly. He was a tall man, pale and gaunt, with white-blond hair and gray eyes giving him a washed-out look. He moved slowly, with an affected fragility, but Jack suspected that there was steel underneath. Roberts set his drink down and leaned back in his chair, his cadaverous eyes never blinking.

"They are very private people," he answered laconically. "All communications are electronic; not until the exchange will there be a face to face meeting."

"Who will be at the meeting?"

"Only businessmen. Myself, as facilitator; a representative of my client; and a representative of the Minister's staff." The man smiled again, raising one fair eyebrow. "I suspect it will be you he wants there."

"Why me, do you suppose?"

"The deal is something of an unconventional arrangement, if you'll take my meaning. So much potential for misunderstanding. I imagine the ministry wishes to keep its hands clean, as it were; you, an outsider, offer the opportunity to do so."

"I see," said Jack as he sipped his drink. "If these people are so secretive, how did they come to you?"

Roberts smiled his reptilian smile. "I travel a fair bit, in some, shall we say, unusual orbits? One meets interesting people that way."

Jack grinned broadly. "I think I know exactly what you mean."

 

Late that night, Jack took advantage of his quickly-won freedom, using a computer in the minister's office to access high-level confidential files. He picked up his phone and called the Doctor's number.

"Pete was right," he said. "There's a vaguely-worded order here for the shutdown of Torchwood. Remaining staff to be reassigned or eliminated. By the way, looks like your little ruse worked. Officially, you're dead."

"Brilliant," said the Doctor. "I imagine you can take care of those orders?"

"Of course," answered Jack as he typed. "A few subtle changes here and there, and I should be able to restore our funding and maybe even some of our staff. That all right with you?"

"Fantastic. What else are you learning?"

"I'll have to fill you in later, Doc. Someone's here." He hung up the phone and closed out the files as soft footsteps approached through the outer office. The door opened and the minister's young secretary looked in.

"Terribly sorry to disturb you, sir. I thought I heard voices, didn't realize you were still at work."

"Just finished up," said Jack as he shut down the computer. He glanced up at the sandy-haired young soldier, taking in his earnest youth, his sea-green eyes, his slim muscular figure, lithe under the uniform. He raised an appreciative eyebrow. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Private Brian Denton, sir."

"Tell me, Brian, where does a man go for a drink around here?"

The young man smiled, a sly twinkle in his eye. "I know just the place, sir."

 

At nightfall Rose kissed the Doctor goodbye and hurried away before she could have second thoughts. He would be safe; he would be looked after. She had work to do. 

She took a circumspect route to her father's house. Anyone could be watching for Pete's return, and she hoped to avoid them. She entered the property at the far end of the grounds behind the house, where the trees were thick, and made her way carefully across the broad garden.

Two years she'd spent here, pacing these gardens in the dark as she waited to get back to the other world, the one that had been home for her first twenty years. All that was in the past, but her memory of the garden remained. Even now she could find her way easily through the moonless night, from the edge of the forest all the way to the narrow servants' entrance, avoiding the gravel walkways, stepping cautiously along the grassy verge. She felt more than saw the silent house looming up in front of her, and stopped to listen for any sign of life. 

For a long moment nothing stirred. A light breeze rustled in the distant trees; an owl hooted softly. The still air by the house smelt of moss and damp brick. No flicker of light interrupted the black, not even starlight; high clouds lay across the sky like a blanket. She took a deep breath to calm herself, then quietly pushed open the door.

The kitchen was utterly black. Still her memory served, and she crossed the room without incident. She crept down the dark hallway, up the broad main stairs - the servants' stairwell creaked like a chorus of ill frogs, and she avoided it. Upstairs she sneaked into her father's windowless study and pulled the door silently shut. For a long moment she held still, listening, but there was no other sound.

With another steadying breath Rose pulled the flashlight from her pocket and flicked it on. The narrow beam played over her father's desk, his high shelves stuffed with books, his rows of firmly locked file cabinets, and finally fell on his computer. She hurried forward and flipped the power switch, dropping into her father's chair. As the screen's glow filled the room, she switched off her flashlight. Seconds ticked away as the computer moved through its protracted start-up sequence.

Sitting in the chair in the dark, her face bathed in a pale blue glow, Rose began to feel a faint gnawing in her gut, a vague unease, as if something were subtly wrong. She flicked on her flashlight again and played it around the room. The computer's fan hummed noisily in the quiet. Rose tucked the flashlight back in her pocket and tapped her fingers anxiously on the leather seat. Her father always had the best in office furniture, luxurious and expensive and warm - 

She leaped out of the chair and ducked into a shadowy corner. The chair should not be warm. The computer's fan should not be running, not yet. Someone had been using the machine, someone had left the room only moments, seconds before she arrived.

Or they hadn't.

Rose held her breath. The computer noise seemed deafening in the stillness, drowning out any sound that might help her locate the danger. The blue glow of the screen lingered in her vision, shapeless phantoms hovering before her no matter how she tried to blink them away. Her heart raced and she struggled to calm it, certain she was not alone, certain that any moment someone would lunge out of the dark and grab her.

She was not wrong. Something heavy crashed against the side of her head, and she collapsed to the floor, the sound of her fall muted by the heavy rug underfoot.

 

Rose lay on the soft carpet, eyes closed, a tiny trickle of blood seeping slowly from beneath her hair. An eternity passed; she scarcely breathed. The light went on overhead. A shadow fell across her face, a silent figure standing over her, then kneeling, peering at her closely. A warm hand brushed her hair aside, felt for the pulse in her neck. In an instant she seized the wrist, pulled its owner to the floor and threw herself on top of him, pinning him down with all her weight. He squealed in terror.

"Ian! What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh gods, Rose, you frightened me! I thought I'd killed you!"

She twisted his arm behind his back; he whimpered and lay still. She leaned down to whisper in his ear. "What the hell are you doing?"

"My job." His voice wavered.

"Bashing me over the head, that's your job now?"

"It's my job to keep this room secure. How did I know it was you?"

She pushed herself up with a disgusted grunt, and he scrambled to his feet. "What are you doing here?" he asked sharply. 

"Trying to find out who wants us dead. Are you going to help or what?"

He glared at her, rubbing his shoulder. "What makes you think you'll learn anything here?"

Rose opened her mouth to tell him everything, then changed her mind. "I don't know. We don't have any leads or any idea of where to start, so I thought I'd start here."

He stared daggers. "You really hurt my arm," he said petulantly.

"Good," Rose muttered, wiping blood from her cheek. "I'm sorry, Ian," she said out loud. "You frightened me too, you know."

He dropped his eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"All right. Now can we work together?"

He looked up again, still reluctant. "What do you want me to do?"

"You can get out of the way, for starters." She pushed past him and sat down in front of the computer again. Her head began to throb, and she blinked her vision clear. Ian approached, watching over her shoulder as she logged in.

"Where did you get that password?" he demanded.

"I have all the passwords."

"No one has all the passwords! I don't even have them all!"

"You're not his daughter," she retorted smugly.

Ian muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Rose threw him a glare and dragged her attention back to the computer. She accessed Pete's Torchwood files, sorting through the highest-security memoranda. Beside her, Ian smoldered.

"You shouldn't be here," he muttered.

She didn't look up. "So throw me out."

For a moment he stood there silently. Rose concentrated on the files. Several items looked interesting, with titles like 'Financials' and 'Staff,' and she sent them to Jack and the Doctor. She forgot about Ian, focused on her work, until something cold and hard pressed painfully against the growing lump on the side of her head.

"Ow! Ian!" She turned toward him angrily, to find herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Get up," he growled. "You are not his daughter, whatever your slut of a mother says. I don't know what your game is, but it's over now."

Rose stared at the gun, the blood draining from her face. "Ian, I -"

"Shut up!" His face was dark with rage, his eyes on fire. "I've known you were trouble, ever since I first saw you. Mr. Tyler was always so blind about that stupid cow he married, he actually believed her when she said you were his! It's disgusting! And now he's given you everything. It was supposed to be me! I was the son he never had, and then you came along, you and your slut mother, all of a sudden he's got a real family and I'm nothing again. You make me sick, you lying bitch!"

Rose sat silently in the chair and stared at him, her mind racing uselessly.

"Get up," he said. "If I'd known you had all the passwords I'd have hit you a little harder. Now I know who the mole is, who's behind all the trouble. Thought you'd get him killed for his money, did you? I'll put a stop to that right now."

Slowly Rose got to her feet. "It's not true, I'd never -"

"Shut up!" he shrieked, near panic. Rose swallowed, watching the gun in his trembling hands. "We're going downstairs now, and I'm going to lock you up, and when Mr. Tyler comes back, then the truth will out! You'll see!"

 

The walk downstairs took forever, with Ian raving and waving the gun like a madman as they crept down the main stairs and across the wide foyer; her head throbbed as they passed through the kitchen and down the back stairs into the basement, her pulse pounding so loud she couldn't think. How could she persuade him? How could she get word to the Doctor? or to her dad? Her mind stayed stubbornly blank, and tears filled her eyes. She didn't dare lift a hand to wipe them away.

Ian stopped her at the wine cellar. The room was large, nearly filled with racks and racks of dusty bottles. The air was cool and damp-smelling; the fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed. The door was a heavy one, with a modern lock designed to keep out troublesome servants. It was a good spot for a prison. Ian pushed her in and slammed the door behind her, sliding the bolt noisily. Rose pounded on the thick wood.

"Ian! He is my father, and I would never hurt him! You've got to let me go!"

Ian's voice came back muffled by the thick door. "When Mr. Tyler gets back, then we'll learn the truth. Till then you can just stay put."

"He could be days! He needs our help, Ian, we've got to find out what's going on! We've got to do something!"

"I think you've done enough," he said coldly.

"Ian!" Her voice broke, tears running down her cheeks. "Ian, you've got to tell him. You can't leave me here, he needs me! Ian! Ian!"

There was no answer. She knelt on the floor, her sore head pressed against the musty wood, and let the tears fall freely.


	5. Chapter 5

The Doctor sat up in his hospital bed, watching the gray sky lighten through the broad window. His phone lay silent on the bedside table. Behind him the door opened softly.

"You're awake."

He turned to see Martha standing in the doorway, her white coat crisp, her smile warm. "You're early," he said.

"Someone's got to keep an eye on you." He turned back to the window as she paused to scrub her hands. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Oh fine, fine."

Skeptical, she pulled out her stethoscope and listened to his chest. His breathing was shallow, and a little too quick for a man who hadn't been out of bed; his heart raced. She sighed and put the stethoscope away.

"All right, what's wrong? Out with it!"

He glanced at her and smiled, a faded imitation smile. "Not a thing. Top of the world."

"You are the world's worst liar." She folded her arms and glared at him. He stared stubbornly out the window. Shaking her head she unwrapped the bandages on his hands. The skin was healing, but still raw and red and burning hot under her fingers. She felt him tense at her touch but his gaze remained fixed on the window. She examined his wounds, cleaned and re-bandaged them, with no reaction from her patient.

"Doctor," she said softly. "You've got to tell me what's wrong."

He glanced at her sheepishly. "Not used to being left behind, I suppose." His eyes returned to the window. "I should be there. I shouldn't have let her go on her own."

Martha smiled. "I think Rose can take care of herself."

He shook his head. "She should have been back by now. Or at least called. She's been gone all night, and her phone's going straight to voicemail." He picked up his phone clumsily in his bandaged hands and peered at it.

Martha sighed and plucked the phone away from him. "You didn't sleep, did you? You need rest. If you don't lie down and quit worrying, you'll never get out of here."

He settled back on the pillow with a grin. "Sorry, Doctor."

"I mean it." She glared at him. "Go to sleep. I'll look in on you in a while."

"Yes, Doctor."

She eyed him skeptically as he closed his eyes. The most stubborn and intractable patient she'd had in years, she wouldn't trust him an inch. She glanced at her watch. The sooner I get my rounds done the sooner I can be back, she thought, and hurried out of the room.

 

Rose glanced at her phone for the thousandth time. No signal. The clock said eight AM. She lay on the floor, staring blankly up at the towering racks of bottles. She had shouted for hours, shouted herself hoarse, then dozed fitfully on the floor, waking at the slightest sound, the slightest indication that her jailer might return. Now her throat was sore and dry as paper, and she wondered if he would think to bring her water. Or whether he'd decide to let her out. Or if he'd forgotten about her, or if something had happened to him and she'd be trapped here for days. She checked the phone again. No signal. She sighed in frustration, gazing up at the racks of bottles. Hundreds of bottles. Mum loved having a wine cellar, it made her feel posh, even if she still only drank the cheap stuff. Rose thought about the Doctor. Surely he'd be able to devise a way out, using those bottles and whatever he had in his pockets. She checked her pockets. Besides the usual phone, cash, and ID, she found a pencil; a stick of gum; a handkerchief; a hairpin. Inspired, she got up and stuck the hairpin in the lock, fiddling it back and forth. They do this all the time in detective stories, she thought. The minutes ticked away as she poked around with the pin, wiggling it uselessly back and forth. Nothing. Shouldn't there be something to catch, something to pull or push to make this thing turn? With a sigh she straightened up and kicked the wall in frustration.

It gave.

She knelt down to look. Her boot had made a substantial dent. She poked at the spot; it was soft with damp. She stood up and kicked it again, and a few pieces of drywall crumbled down around her foot. She dropped to the ground and peered into the hole.

She could see right through. The wall was only a few inches' gap between two pieces of drywall, held up by lumber studs every foot or so. Wide enough to squeeze through, if she could take the drywall down; little cracks in the far side suggested weakness there too. She leaped to her feet and grabbed a bottle. Its weight made short work of the soft drywall, and soon she had a substantial hole.

 

Jack sat at the computer sipping coffee. Ostensibly he was double-checking security protocols on the weaponry the ministry was preparing to acquire, but his thoughts kept straying from the task at hand. The secretary Denton seemed to have some excuse to come into the office every few minutes, brushing by him as he passed, shooting him a sly grin. Jack smiled warmly. He hadn't enjoyed himself on a job like this in a long time. Freedom, power, and men in uniform made an intoxicating combination.

The next figure to stop at his shoulder was not Denton, but Roberts. He smiled his cold, conspiratorial smile.

"My clients would like to meet with you."

Jack sat up. "With me? Now?"

"Not face to face, of course. Simply for... conversation."

Jack got to his feet with a grin. "I'm your man."

Roberts turned and led the way out of the office. At the end of the hall they passed through a series of doors, finally ending up in a small windowless conference room with a large television monitor at one end and a wide table nearly filling the space. Roberts closed the door behind them. Jack gazed around the tiny room as Roberts fiddled with a small plastic device in his hands. "Lieutenant, if I may..."

Jack turned towards him, and Roberts pressed the device against his chest. A searing jolt like a lightning strike surged through him, and he collapsed to the ground.

 

When Jack awoke, he was lying flat on the conference table. He was not restrained, but his limbs felt heavy, his body too weak to move. He caught a movement in the corner of his eye, and turned to face Roberts standing to one side.

"That hurt," he rasped.

Roberts cleared his throat. "Lieutenant Hart, if that is your name, I suspect you are a man who has, as they say, been around."

"More ways than one," said Jack with a lopsided grin.

"Indeed. My clients are not what you might call local. If you take my meaning."

"They're the ones driving our skywatchers crazy all week?"

Roberts smiled. "Quite. They are traders, picking up this and that as they make their way across the galaxy, selling where they find the interest."

"And they find interest here."

"A fairly backward planet that still solves problems by blowing them up. I thought it best to facilitate a sale with a Western government, as opposed to, hm, the highest bidder. My clients are not particular, but I am, you might say, still a patriot."

"I see." Jack felt strength slowly flowing back into his limbs. He pushed himself up to a sitting position as Roberts watched unblinking. "And what, might you say, has all this to do with me?"

"A man of your, hm, talents could find all manner of interesting work off planet. My clients have expressed interest, but there are other opportunities. Nearly infinite opportunities, in fact."

"What's in it for you?"

The reptilian smile broadened. "I am a facilitator. I receive a finder's fee when appropriate. You, Lieutenant, are unique. I imagine, should we find you the right line of work, both of us could be well compensated."

"An interesting proposal from a man who just killed me."

"The man who cannot die has little to fear from his killer. I wished only to confirm my discovery; had I been wrong, I should have to kill you now anyway. My way saved us both a little time. In any case, I feel strongly that your talents are wasted on this small-minded little world. I hope to persuade you to accept."

Jack rubbed his chest where the jolt had hit him. "I'll have to sleep on that."

"I understand completely," said Roberts. "You have until the sale is final to make your choice; at that point I and my clients shall leave this place, and the opportunity will pass."

Roberts gave a little bow and slipped silently out of the room. Jack stared after him.

 

The Doctor stood by the window in his dressing gown, leaning heavily on the sill. His chest ached; his head ached; his hands burned, but he had to move. It had taken him only seconds to get out of bed and over to the window, but now minutes ticked by as he waited for the dizziness to pass. He took a deep breath, and winced at the twinge of his ribs.

What was he thinking, letting himself get blown up like that? He'd thought he was being clever, letting the enemy believe they'd gotten him so he'd be free to move about. Instead, he was just as trapped. He couldn't leave the hospital, he could barely stand on his own feet for two minutes, and he couldn't reach Rose on the phone. That was the worst part. Why had he ever let her go? He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window and closed his eyes, willing away the pain. He didn't hear the door open, didn't realize he wasn't alone until Martha cleared her throat behind him.

He whirled around and nearly fell, catching his balance on the windowsill just in time.

"Dr. Jones! Lovely to see you!"

"You're looking well," she said skeptically.

"Never better. Smashing. Ready to go. See?" He let go of the windowsill to demonstrate his strength. Martha remained unconvinced.

"Well, let's see about that, shall we? Back in bed with you." She turned away to wash her hands, and he stumbled back to the bed. Eying him critically, she pressed a thermometer to his ear. "Your temperature is up. What have you been doing?"

"I feel fine."

She laid a cool hand on his forehead. "You do not," she said, pulling out her stethoscope. "Your breathing doesn't sound any better. Does this hurt?" She prodded his ribs, and he winced. "I see. Well, there's only one thing for it." She moved away and pulled a sterile syringe from a drawer by the sink, filling it from a tiny bottle.

"What's that, then?"

"Something for the pain," she said. He watched her warily as she approached, and flinched as she jabbed him in the arm. "You'd better lie down."

"Why's that?" he asked, as he leaned back against the pillow.

"Might make you drowsy." He watched her go blurry, watched the world tilt and fade to nothing as black oblivion came crashing down around him.

 

Covered in dust, Rose squeezed through the narrow gap out into the black hallway and paused to rest. It had been easy enough to start breaking holes in the wall, but she had decided on stealth and in the end the quiet had cost her too much time. Her throat felt parched and her stomach rumbled emptily. She took a deep breath and moved quietly along the hall toward the stairs.

Daylight streamed down the narrow staircase. Cautiously she climbed, step by step, the wine bottle still gripped tightly in her hand. Silence sat heavily on the enormous empty house. At the top of the stairs she ducked into the quiet kitchen, pulling out her phone to call the Doctor. The line rang and rang; he did not pick up. With a sigh she disconnected, then risked the noise to get a glass of water. Feeling somewhat better, she looked around the kitchen for inspiration. She found a roll of twine and tucked it into her jacket pocket. She considered the wine bottle, but decided it was too unwieldy. A small skillet would do the same job, and be much easier to handle. So armed, she moved once more toward the main stairs.

She found Ian slumped in the chair at her father's desk, softly snoring. She glanced cautiously around the room, wondering if he'd been drugged again. But there was no sign of anyone, no sign of any disturbance, or any food or drink nearby. She crept across the room, unwinding the kitchen twine in her hands. Silently she wrapped it around him and around the chair, loop by loop around his arms and legs and chest and waist. He snored on, oblivious. When he seemed reasonably secure, she pulled the twine tight and dragged the chair away from the desk. Ian woke with a start.

"What the hell? How did you get out? What have you done? Let me go!" He wriggled uselessly, and Rose ignored him. He howled as she logged back into the computer, swore as she restored her session with Torchwood, begged as she sent file after file off to the Doctor. Finally she rolled her eyes and turned to face him. He glared at her.

"I'll see you punished for this, so help me!"

"I'm sorry, Ian. We should be on the same side. But so far you've hit me over the head and locked me in a cellar, left me for hours without even a glass of water, done everything you could to stop me from doing what I needed to do. But I'm done now, so I should really let you go."

He wriggled some more, straining against the tough twine. "Yes! Yes, let me go, Rose. I've a job to do too, you know. We'll call a truce, settle things when Mr. Tyler gets back. Yes? All right? Just let me go!"

She watched him dispassionately. "Thing is, Ian, you really shouldn't have said those things about my mum."

He gaped at her in disbelief. She turned back to the computer, shut it down, and walked purposefully out of the room.

 

Rose was halfway back to the hospital when her phone buzzed silently in her pocket. She pulled it out anxiously, hoping for some word from the Doctor. Instead, the message was from Jack, with the address of a pub far outside their usual circles. With a sigh she changed course and made her way across the city.

 

Rose found Jack at the bar, nursing his whiskey. He normally looked pretty sharp in uniform, but for some reason today he seemed rumpled, unkempt, with creases in his clothes and his hair uncombed. She slid onto the bar stool next to him.

"Everything all right?"

He glanced up at her. "Hi. Swell. I couldn't reach the Doctor, but I wanted to get this to him." He pushed an envelope across the bar toward her. "You'll be heading back to the hospital?"

She nodded, tucking the envelope into her jacket. "Soon as I can," she mumbled as the barman appeared. Jack ordered another drink, and Rose ordered fish and chips, ravenous from her ordeal. "What did you find?" she asked as the barman moved away.

"Between what you sent and what I found at the ministry, I tracked down the order to set the charges in your apartment. It went down a few levels, of course, there's no provable connection to anyone official. The files themselves will likely self-destruct now they've been accessed, and all that paper will just look like a clever forgery. Still, I thought the Doctor would like to know who his friends are."

"Do you know why they wanted to get rid of Torchwood?"

"Think so. Seems we make some people uncomfortable. This particular race, they deal in some dangerous stuff, and apparently we've gotten a little too close for comfort on a couple of recent jobs. They're afraid word would get back to the authorities. Taking out Torchwood, with all that inquisitiveness, sharply reduces their risk."

"But murder?"

He shrugged. "Only for the most stubborn. We're a thorn in a lot of sides."

The barman returned with food and drink, and the conversation ceased. As she ate, Rose noticed Jack staring into space, wearing a wistful look. She nudged his elbow.

"Jack, are you all right?"

He turned to her with a broad smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine, sweetheart. I've got to go." He swallowed the rest of his drink and stood up, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "Take care of yourself." He tossed some cash on the bar and strode out of the pub.

Rose watched him go, chewing thoughtfully. Something was not right with him. She hurried through her meal and rushed back to the hospital.


	6. Chapter 6

Martha returned to the Doctor's room to find Rose pacing anxiously. "What's wrong with him?" she demanded.

"Hello, Rose," Martha smiled as she scrubbed her hands. "I had to sedate him. He didn't sleep last night, worrying about you, and he was making himself sick."

"Oh. He'll be all right?"

"He'll be fine. Let's see how he's doing, shall we?" Martha crossed to the bed to examine her sleeping patient. "The fever's gone, and he's breathing easily. That's good news. I'll just change his bandages and leave you alone. Looks like you could use some sleep as well."

Rose sagged with relief. "Yeah, expect you're right." She settled down in a chair as Martha worked. "He's healing well, Rose," she said. "When he wakes up, you can take him to the apartment."

"Thank you," Rose mumbled. When Martha looked up, she was asleep.

 

Jack returned to the minister's office and got to work: creating new orders to ensure the continued existence of Torchwood and the safety of its agents from their own government, as well as digging up any information he could find about the aliens they would soon be dealing with. On his way in he exchanged a flirtatious grin with Private Denton. Jack hoped for another chance at that one before he torpedoed himself out of the ministry's good favor, one way or the other.

Freedom, he thought to himself as he sat at the computer. Traveling with traders, he could end up anywhere in the universe. He could earn enough credits to buy himself a ship, or, failing that, steal one. He hadn't lost an ounce of skill in all his time on Earth, he knew; all he had needed for the past century or so was a way out. Now he had one.

But like anything, that freedom had a price. If he blew up the explosives deal, the aliens might lose their welcoming attitude. If he didn't, he would be leaving a powerful and dangerous weapon in the hands of a government far too inclined to use it. He'd be leaving the scrappy remnants of Torchwood behind to deal with the mess. He'd be leaving the best friends he'd had in nearly two hundred years.

He shook his head. What were friends to an immortal? They would be gone soon anyway, and he would be on his own again. Why not cut ties now, on his terms, never have to watch them grow weak and wither away? Never again be forced to stand by and endure loss? On his own he'd be free, free for casual liaisons with the likes of Private Denton, free to move on whenever he liked, to leave behind nothing of himself. He pined for that freedom, for the life he'd known more than a century ago, before he'd been trapped here on this backwater rock. He could have it again; it was right there in front of him.

Why didn't the thought make him happy?

 

"Lieutenant, if I may..."

"Howdy, Roberts!" The pale man cringed, and Jack smothered a grin. "What can I do for you?"

"I came to inform you that the exchange has been scheduled for thirty-two hours and approximately seventeen minutes from this moment. That is, midnight tomorrow. A decision will be required at that time."

Jack gazed into the cold gray eyes. "You'll have one. At that time." He turned back to his work, feeling Roberts' icy gaze on his back. After a long moment, the thin man stole quietly away, and Jack found himself able to breathe again.

Would freedom be worth an attachment to that character?

He shook his head and focused on his work.

 

"Ow."

"Leave it."

"I can do it."

"All right."

"I can't do it."

"You are such a child."

Rose woke to the sound of gentle argument. She opened her eyes and stared blankly at the empty bed. Abruptly she sat up. Across the room Martha helped the Doctor dress, buttoning his shirt as he fumbled clumsily with his jacket. Rose smiled, watching him fuss as Martha calmly ignored him.

Martha had changed out of her doctor's white coat. She wore a deep red blazer, fashionably cut to show off her trim figure, the color a perfect complement to her dark skin. She looked like someone out of a posh magazine. Suddenly self-conscious, Rose ran her fingers through her tangled hair.

"Ah! You're awake!" the Doctor called.

"Hi," she said with a smile. "You're looking well."

"Indeed, the delightful Dr. Jones has at last decreed that I may depart. Under certain conditions, of course." He rolled his eyes at Martha, who finished with his shirt and began helping him into his jacket. "She has generously arranged a ride to her home, where she will keep me under lock and key for the foreseeable future."

The women exchanged an amused grin. "I'll catch up," Rose said, getting to her feet. "I left Ian tied to a chair, I should probably let him out before he wets himself."

Martha and the Doctor stared at her. "You have had an interesting day," he said. "Don't be long. Jack will be dropping in later, and you can both fill me in on what happened while I was involuntarily unconscious." He glared at Martha, who shook her head in disbelief. "Be careful, Rose," she said.

"I will. Thank you, Martha."

Rose hugged them both and hurried away.

 

By the time Rose reached her father's place, the sun had begun to set and the house was once more dark and still. She crept silently through the kitchen and up the stairs. From the hallway she saw light spilling out of the study, the door wide open. Mentally she kicked herself for leaving Ian so exposed to danger. She tiptoed to the door and peered inside.

The chair was empty, draped in slack loops of twine. Rose held her breath, listening for some sound of movement in the room. Too late, she remembered she was unarmed; too late, she realized she had neglected to relieve Ian of his gun. Frozen in the shadowed hallway, she briefly considered making her escape. He was free, so he wouldn't go hungry or thirsty as she had. He was no longer her responsibility. But, she reminded herself, she had left him imprisoned and vulnerable. She had to be sure he was all right.

"Ian?" Her voice was barely a whisper. She swallowed her nerves and tried again. "Ian? Are you all right?"

There was no sound. She took a cautious step into the doorway. "Ian? I came to let you out. Are you hurt?"

"Rose..." The voice was a painful croak. "Rose, help me..."

She rushed into the room. "Ian! Where are you?"

"Stupid cow," he said, directly behind her, and the room went black.

 

Rose opened her eyes, and the world swam dizzyingly around her. She closed them again and her head pounded, throbbing with every movement, of which there seemed to be far too much. She opened her eyes again, and blinked her vision clear.

She was definitely moving. She looked up at her hands, stretched out over her head, and her hair falling... upwards? She stared, confused, at the carpet above her. Legs, above her. Upside-down, she realized abruptly, slung like a potato sack over Ian's shoulder. He struggled with her weight; she felt suddenly, irrationally embarrassed for both of them. She blinked again, focusing on something closer to hand. The gun. Inches from her nose, the gun was tucked clumsily into Ian's waistband. Exactly where a gun should never be, she thought. She stared at it, her head near to exploding, her eyes swimming, and before she could think she seized the gun and pulled the trigger.

Ian screamed. It was a terrifying noise, like an animal in pain. Rose crashed to the floor, jarring her tortured skull and adding a full set of bruises to the lumps on her head. She scrambled to her feet, the gun still in her hand, and stumbled blindly away. She rubbed her eyes clear and looked back. Ian writhed on the floor, rolling around on the thick carpet of the foyer, screaming like a tortured beast. Her vision settled, the pounding in her head easing, as she watched him.

There was no sign of blood.

Rose sank back to the floor with relief. Carefully she emptied the gun, putting the bullets in her pocket and leaving the weapon aside. She crawled toward the moaning lump. His howls had abated to a low whimper, and he rocked back and forth on his belly, both hands covering his rear. Kneeling beside him she took hold of his wrists, gently lifting his hands away. He protested only weakly, sobbing into the carpet. 

She could see the hole the bullet had left in the seat of his dark slacks. The edges were singed, but there was no sign of blood. She smelled seared flesh and gunpowder, but not that distinctive ferric odor. She looked up and down his thin body, and saw no other hint of injury. With a sigh she climbed over him, pinning his arms with her knees, resting her full weight on the small of his back.

"I'm sorry, Ian. I've had enough of you trying to kill me." He growled, struggling feebly, and she pulled out her phone. "Jack?" she said. "I'm at the house. I could really use your help."

 

Five of them gathered in Martha's comfortable living room as the hour grew late. Ian, red-eyed and sullen, sat handcuffed to a dining chair. Rose curled up on the sofa with an icepack on her head, the Doctor beside her grinning with merriment. Jack sank deep in an armchair, staring off into the distance, and Martha sat primly on a cushion on the floor, gazing at each of them in open disbelief. Two wine bottles liberated from Pete's cellar stood empty on the coffee table.

Martha set down her glass. "I'm going to bed," she said, getting to her feet. She looked for a moment as if she wanted to say something else; instead, she sighed deeply and padded softly out of the room.

"Me too," said Rose, pulling herself upright. "What about you, Doctor?"

"Me? I'm wide awake. I slept all day, I'll be up all night." He turned to Jack. "I'm going to be using the computer in the office. If you'd like to move our restrained friend in there, I'll keep an eye on him and you can get some rest in here."

"Sounds good to me." Jack lifted Ian, chair and all, and carried him into the next room. The Doctor settled down at the computer. Rose shuffled off to the guest room, and Jack collapsed back into the armchair and resumed his anxious contemplation.

 

Jack looked up at the sound of a soft footstep. Martha came into the room in her dressing gown, a deep red silk that gave her cheeks a rosy glow. The low light sparkled warmly in her eyes as she sat on the sofa and glanced at him. He forced a smile.

"Can't sleep?"

She shook her head. "Can't stop thinking about..." She shrugged. "Unbelievable. Every word."

Jack grinned. "I know the feeling. The universe is a crazy place. Just when you think you know what's going on, something surprises you."

"That's for sure." She settled back on the couch with a sigh, staring into space.

Jack watched her for a long moment, then leaned forward in his chair. "So tell me something about yourself, Dr. Jones."

Her eyes flicked over to him doubtfully. "What's to tell? I'm a doctor. That pretty much rules out any other interests."

"Family? Boyfriend?"

She smiled, blushing. "My family's all scattered, none of them live nearby anymore. And with my job, a proper romance is just not going to happen. Honestly, my life is pretty boring."

He raised an eyebrow. "Saving lives, boring?"

She shrugged. "When it happens, it's fantastic, best feeling in the world. But that's not very often. Most of our patients are chronically ill, or elderly and declining. The best we can do is keep them alive a little longer, without too much pain." She sighed. "Way of the world, these days. Just limping along."

"You'd like to do more."

"I would. But what is there?"

"Oh, Martha." He moved over to the sofa and sat beside her, one arm around her shoulders. "There's so much more. But you have to be willing to believe it."

She eyed him skeptically. "Believe it? Immortality and time travel and alternate universes? Alien weapon systems and government conspiracies?" She shook her head. "It's all a bit more than I can handle."

"I think you can handle it." He smiled, teasing, and she returned his smile with a spark of mischief.

"I think I can handle a lot of things."

"Do you?" He gazed at her, admiring her warm dark eyes, her playful smile. He lifted a finger, delicately tracing the line of her jaw. "Think you can handle this?"

"I think I can." She reached up, gentle hands on the back of his neck, and kissed him.


	7. Chapter 7

Rose emerged late the next morning. Dressed in new clothes, her hair damp from the shower, she felt clean and well-rested for the first time in days. She followed the sound of cheerful banter and the smell of bacon into the kitchen. Jack stood at the stove over a sizzling pan; the Doctor and Ian sat at the table with cups of coffee. Rose noticed with alarm that Ian was no longer cuffed.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

"Morning, beautiful!" said Jack with a grin. "Coffee's ready, breakfast in two minutes."

The Doctor beamed at her, gesturing to the empty chair beside him, but she kept her eyes on Ian. He too was squeaky clean and freshly dressed, and he colored under her gaze. Nervously he got to his feet and approached her; she stood back warily.

"I'm sorry, Rose," he said, staring at the floor. She glanced at the Doctor, who nodded.

"Are you really?"

Ian nodded. "I know we're all on the same side. I panicked, and I'm sorry. I'm not used to all this excitement." He shrugged and glanced at her with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm a secretary, not a soldier. I was out of my depth."

"All right." She eyed him skeptically, and went to sit beside the Doctor. Ian resumed his seat. Jack passed around laden plates and sat down with them.

"Where's Martha?" Rose asked.

"Gone to work hours ago," said Jack. "You were so sound asleep, we didn't know if you'd ever wake up."

"Shut up," she said with a grin, turning to the Doctor. "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad, not bad. I'm strictly forbidden to run, jump, or shout. But I can almost use these again." He showed her his unbandaged hands. The skin was fiery red, and he flexed his long fingers with some difficulty. "Almost," he repeated, making a face. "I can manage a fork all right, but I'm going to need your help today with some finer work."

"What work?"

"Doc's figured out how to disrupt the arms transfer tonight," answered Jack.

"I have," said the Doctor smugly. "I just have to build a transmitter to send the disruption signal. We should find all the parts we need at Torchwood."

"All right," she said. "What about you, Jack?"

"I'm expected at the Ministry. In fact, I'd better go. You coming, Ian?"

"He's going with you?" asked Rose with surprise as Ian scrambled to his feet.

"Jack's giving me a ride back to the house," Ian answered. "We haven't been able to reach Mr. Tyler."

Rose looked at him with concern. "No word at all?" He shook his head, and she scowled.

"I'm going to keep trying," he said. "I'll be in touch if I hear anything."

Ian and Jack hurried away, and Rose sat quietly staring into her empty plate.

"He'll be all right, Rose," said the Doctor softly.

"What if he's not?" Tears stung her eyes.

"He is. I promise."

She shook her head and began gathering the breakfast dishes. "Least we can do is leave Martha a clean kitchen, don't you think?"

"Wish I could help," he said with a grin, displaying his damaged hands.

"Shut up," she answered, smiling through her tears.

 

Under the Doctor's direction Rose slowly pieced together bits of metal and wire, transistors and capacitors and other things she couldn't identify, into a device that somewhat resembled a remote control for a toy airplane. "How is this going to work?"

"Jack says that the explosives will be transported via energy beam. This little gadget will generate a signal to scatter the beam, effectively destroying the explosives without any actual exploding. Genius, really." He grinned.

"So we have to do it in the middle of the transfer, then."

"Yep. We should have a second or two leeway. And we'll have to be within visual range. Jack is going to send us the meeting location. He'll have a truck there to accept the delivery, so we'll know right away whether we've succeeded."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"We'll think of something." He pushed the next part towards her, and she got back to work.

 

Martha returned home to find her patient pacing the apartment like a caged animal. "I see you've been resting?"

"Yes, Doctor," he answered meekly, sinking onto the sofa.

She smiled. "We'll see about that, won't we." She sat down beside him and took out her stethoscope. Rose emerged from the kitchen as she examined him.

"Is he all right?"

"He's fine. He's going to go lie down now."

"What? I'm still waiting to hear -" He reached for his phone on the table. Martha snatched it away and passed it to Rose.

"I'm sure Rose can manage it. You've been up all night and all day, and somehow I think you'll be at it again tonight, so right now you're going to rest."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she folded her arms and stared him down stubbornly. He glanced at Rose for help, but she offered only a mocking grin. "All right," he sighed, defeated, and shuffled off to bed.

The women watched him go, sharing a smile. "There's pizza," Rose said when he had gone, gesturing to the kitchen. "And I made a salad. I'm sorry, I'm not much of a cook."

"Thank you, Rose," said Martha. "I had dinner with Jack. He told me your plans for tonight."

Rose glanced at the bedroom door, worried. "We need him, I don't think we can do it without him."

"That's all right. I'm not going to stand in his way. As long as I get to go along."

Rose looked back at her, surprised. "You want to go with us?"

Martha smiled mischievously. "Of course. I've got to keep an eye on my patient, haven't I? Anyway, I have a day off tomorrow, and I could use a little excitement."

Rose gave her a sly grin. "Could be dangerous."

Martha shrugged, still smiling. "What's life without a little danger?"

 

Jack guided the heavy truck over rough ground, bouncing and jolting slowly to the top of a low hill. The sun was long down, the moonless sky overcast; his headlights fell on nothing as he pulled to a stop and set the brake. The truck sat at one end of a narrow flat space on top of the small rise, its back end facing the center, ready to receive cargo. Switching off headlights and engine he listened to the dark.

Another vehicle approached from behind him, a well-tuned luxury vehicle humming smoothly over the dirt track. Jack stepped out of the truck to watch the headlights approach. The car, long and black, looped around the hill and stopped on the opposite side of the little clearing. Roberts climbed out of the passenger seat; Jack walked over to meet him.

"Good evening, Lieutenant. I trust you have come to a decision."

Jack grinned as he shook Roberts' hand. "Oh yes, I have."

Roberts smiled icily. "Excellent. When our other business is concluded, we shall make the arrangements." He turned his eyes to the sky. Jack checked his watch.

"Your client is generally prompt?"

"Oh yes," said Roberts. "On, as they say, the dot."

As he spoke a figure materialized before them, taller than any man, armless and legless and topped with a glass bulb. The long undulating body was encased in a tube-shaped suit of faintly reflective material; something writhed and wriggled beneath it, causing the fabric to bulge and fold strangely. Jack peered up at the glass bulb, but in the dark he could not make out the form of the face within.

A voice broke through the quiet, a mechanical voice accompanied by the familiar faint buzz of a portable translator. "It is done?"

"It is done," answered Roberts. "Payment in full." He extracted a thick envelope from his inside jacket pocket and laid it on the ground in front of the limbless alien. "Documentation is enclosed."

The towering form leaned forward slightly, peering down at the small square on the ground. The envelope sparkled briefly, then vanished. The alien straightened.

"The other matter?" it said in its grating voice.

Roberts raised his left hand in the air and snapped his fingers. Behind him the driver got out of the long black car, opened the back door and pulled a handcuffed and hooded figure to its feet. 

"As promised," Roberts said. The two figures approached; the driver pulled off his prisoner's hood to reveal Pete Tyler, gagged and staring wildly. Jack kept his face carefully blank.

 

A hundred yards away, hidden in the brush atop another low rise, Rose gasped.

"Easy, Rose," whispered the Doctor. "I need you."

"It's Dad! They've got Dad!"

Martha laid a comforting hand on her arm. "Jack won't let anything happen to him."

Rose swallowed, fighting the urge to rush to her father's side. Instead she looked down at the transmitter in her hands. Beside her the Doctor peered through field glasses, carefully watching the alien as it bent to examine Pete and straightened, apparently satisfied. It took some effort to read the intentions of an armless creature with no visible face, but he did his best.

"Now, Rose!" he hissed, as loudly as he dared. "Do it now!"

 

Jack and Roberts turned to look into the truck.

"There's nothing there," said Jack, sounding perplexed. Roberts rounded on the alien.

"You assured me the transfer would be instantaneous," he spat.

The alien gazed at the truck, peered down at the men.

"Transfer was initiated. There has been deliberate interference."

"That's impossible," Roberts said, a flush of color in his cheeks.

"We have kept our part of the bargain," intoned the alien. A dark spot appeared on what might have been its chest, protruding outwards like a gun from a turret. For an instant it glowed electric blue; then a beam flashed from its tip, arcing across the intervening space, and Pete Tyler collapsed to the ground. The alien vanished. Jack turned and tackled Roberts as his driver ran from the scene in terror.

As Jack cuffed his snarling captive, Rose and Martha came pounding up the hillside, dropping to the ground beside Pete. Rose pulled the gag from his face.

"Dad! Dad, wake up, Dad!"

Martha leaned over him, checking his pulse, listening to his chest. "Rose. Call an ambulance, now!"

Rose jumped to her feet and pulled out her phone. As she made the call the Doctor appeared, plodding slowly up the side of the hill, his breath coming in short gasps. He made his way to Rose and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, tears running down her cheeks, as she spoke to emergency dispatch.

In front of them Martha straddled Pete's still body and began pressing down with both hands on his chest, firmly and evenly, eyes closed, silently counting. Rose buried her face in the Doctor's shirt and sobbed.

 

Rose sat in the waiting room of the empty emergency department, staring at the floor. A movement caught her eye; she looked up to see Martha standing there, wearing her white coat and stethoscope and a gentle smile.

"He's going to be all right, Rose."

Rose leaped to her feet. "Can I see him?"

"In a minute," said Martha. "The orderlies are moving him to a more comfortable room. I'll take you there soon."

"Thank you, Martha," said Rose, hugging her fiercely.

"Everything all right?"

The women looked up to see Jack and the Doctor moving toward them, having deposited their prisoner safely in a Torchwood cell. Rose turned to the Doctor and hugged him.

"Ow."

"Sorry." She let him go, smiling. "He's going to be all right."

"Of course he is! Didn't I say?" The Doctor put an arm around her shoulders and looked over at Martha. "Well done, Dr. Jones."

"Well done indeed," said Jack with a wink. Martha blushed. "All in a day's work," she said.

Jack, Rose, and the Doctor exchanged a glance, then all three turned to Martha. "Dr. Jones," said the Doctor formally. "There is currently a vacancy at the Torchwood Institute for a highly skilled medical doctor. You have shown yourself to be more than qualified. May we interest you in an application?"

"You certainly may, Doctor," said Martha with a broad smile. She turned to Rose. "Come on, Rose, let's go see your dad."

Rose left the Doctor's side, and arm in arm the two women headed down the hallway.

The Doctor turned to Jack. "All in a day's work, my friend?"

Jack shook his head. "All in a day's work."

"Pub?"

"Pub."

Arm in arm, the two men left the hospital and sauntered into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> First published 6/7/2012 on whofic.com
> 
> Martha Jones and Jack Harkness are AU versions of the original characters. This story is AU Martha's first appearance, while AU Jack first appears here: http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=43157
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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